I Will Cling, I Will Clutch
by OtakuWithHazelEyes
Summary: On a bitter cold winter night, Ozma and Salem's eldest daughter is born. After centuries of waiting, they finally have a family. (Part 1 of the Ozma and Family Series)


**Originally posted on AO3.**

* * *

Ozma paced the length of his study, the wind of a harsh winter blizzard howling outside the windows. He would normally do something about that- weather manipulation was a surprisingly simple magic, as least for him- were his thoughts not otherwise occupied.

_They kicked me out hours ago,_ he thought. _How could it possibly be taking this long?_

He should have stayed. Even if Salem screamed at him and blamed him for her pain, even if hearing her say those things made him feel like a rusty knife was being stabbed into his heart- dealing with all that was preferable to the gods-damned waiting.

He'd slain the most murderous of beasts, defeated the evilest of tyrants, and had once legitimately died. And yet, waiting for his and Salem's first child to be born overshadowed everything else. All his trials, and this was the hardest.

Ozma stopped pacing and squeezed the bridge of his nose tiredly.

The baby had been a surprise. Given Salem's... _condition_, they'd been unsure if they would ever be able to conceive. Ozma had told his wife time and time again that he didn't mind, that he was happy just being with her, but she never accepted it.

They'd discussed children in the Old World, before he'd fallen ill. She knew he wanted them.

Thus when the old midwife they consulted confirmed Salem's pregnancy, the news had been met with equal joy and trepidation. They'd been walking on eggshells for the past nine months, worrying that the child would somehow be affected by the Pool of Annihilation's corruption. Salem came out more or less fine, but it was unlikely their unborn baby had the dubious benefit of immortality.

_Something's wrong_, he thought. _His chest felt tight. That's why it's taking so long. Something went wrong, and I'm not there for them._

No. He was not doing that to either of them. Never again.

Ozma spun on his heel and marched to the study door, green flames trailing freely from the corners of his eyes. He swung open the door-

"Eep!"

-to reveal one of the castle's maids in mid-knock. The poor woman looked ready to faint on the spot.

He immediately suppressed the fires of his magic and steadied her before she could fall. "Meghan! My apologies, I hadn't realized you were there."

Meghan took a step back and bowed deeply at the waist. "I'm sorry to have disturbed you, your Grace. I have arrived with news from Midwife Amalthea."

A charge ran down Ozma's spine. "You have? Then speak, woman!"

She managed to not to flinch at his tone. She stood up straight and gave him a genuine smile. "My lord, the Lady has bore you a daughter this day. Would you like to meet her?"

Did she even have to ask?

* * *

Ozma hurried down the halls of his castle towards the master bedroom, not bothering to check if Meghan followed. His heart fluttered and his head felt light. The entire time he moved the words _daughter daughter I have a daughter_ echoed throughout his brain.

After what felt like an eternity he reached his destination. He took a moment to compose himself and opened the door.

The room was dark save for moonlight shining through the window and the crackling fireplace. Amalthea stood off to the side, collecting her supplies. She stopped to give Ozma a brief bow before returning to her task. He paid her no further attention. All his focus was on the pale figure laying in bed.

Her hair hung loose, she was covered in a sheen of sweat, she only had the red blankets of their bed to preserve her modesty, but never had Salem look more like a goddess to her husband. Her red eyes flitted up to meet his, and when they met she smiled.

She held a pale blue-clothed bundle in her arms.

"My love," she said tiredly. "Come see our child."

Ozma strode across the room and sat on the edge of the bed. Salem held the bundle up higher so he could better see.

He couldn't help himself- tears immediately welled up in his eyes as he saw his daughter for the first time.

She was absolutely perfect. Her skin was the pale peach her mother's had once been, and there were wisps of light blonde hair on her scalp. Her eyes were barely open, but he could see they were a rich brown. Without any prompting he took the infant from Salem's arms and held her close to his chest. He leaned his head down, resting his forehead against hers.

"Hello, little one," he said thickly. "I'm your papa. It's so good to finally meet you."

The baby cooed in response, and the tears finally fell. He raised his head and pressed a kiss to her brow. He then turned and did the same to his wife.

Salem let out a breathy laugh and raised a hand wipe away his tears. "After centuries of waiting, we finally have her."

"We do. _Gods_, we do."

"Any thoughts on her name? We never picked one."

They had been so busy worrying the last few months they'd never gotten around to it. Ozma glanced out the bedroom window. The blizzard had finally calmed into a gentle snowfall, which had allowed the pale light of the shattered moon to shine through before. He gazed at the illuminated winter landscape.

"Eirwen," he said without hesitation.

"Eirwen?" Salem echoed. She looked out the window as well. "'White snow.' It's a little on the nose, but I like it. Eirwen, daughter of the gods of Remnant. She'll do great things."

Ozma could only nod.

"Of that I have no doubt, your Graces," Amalthea agreed, approaching the two rulers. "I beg your pardon, but even a goddess needs her rest after giving birth. I just need to finish cleaning you up."

Salem groaned, falling back against the pillows. "Rest sounds _lovely._"

Ozma held Eirwen closer. "May I keep holding her?"

Amalthea chuckled. "Of course, my lord, but not for much longer. The princess needs her rest as well."

"Of course. Thank you."

The midwife bowed again before turning to tend to Salem. Ozma got out of her way and approached the fireplace, rocking Eirwen gently in his arms when she whimpered.

"Hush, sweetheart. It's alright," he whispered. "Your mother has had quite the tiring evening. Best to let her sleep now- if any of the rumors I've heard are true, no one is going to be getting any for the next few months."

He carefully sat down on the plush carpet in front of the fire. Were Salem paying attention she would have scolded him for doing something so casual in front of the servants, but he couldn't bring himself to care. If he was truly the new god of this world, then he could sit where he liked, however he liked.

Ozma freed one hand and held a finger up to Eirwen's tiny palm. She grasped tightly and he smiled.

"I apologize for that earlier display. Your mother wasn't kidding when she said we have been waiting for you for a long time," he murmured. "Look at you, so small and new to the world. You are the embodiment of possibility, little one. Your mother and I certainly aren't going anywhere, so you don't have to rule if you don't want to. Maybe you'll be a scholar, or a healer. Who knows what you'll have to offer this world."

He grew solemn and stared at the flames. "The world has changed a great deal since Salem and I first met. It's literally a remnant of what it once was. We've both changed as well."

Eirwen cooed and he looked down at her. He pulled his finger away to boop her nose. "But we still love each other, and we love you. We're all together and that's what matters."

He pressed his forehead to hers again. Looking at his daughter's little face, Ozma had never felt more at peace. And it wasn't just because the concerns of the last nine months had faded- even the looming threat of the Brothers' judgement day felt so far away. Nothing mattered more to him in that moment than his baby girl. He continued to cradle her, taking in his newfound serenity.

_Eirwen_, he thought. _I promise I will make this world worthy of you. And I will protect you all your days._

_**... We can agree on that.**_

Ozma jolted upright. The sudden action jostled Eirwen, who began to wail. The new father immediately set on soothing her. He rocked her and glanced from side to side.

"My lord?" Amalthea spoke up. (Salem must have well and truly been out of it- she didn't even stir.) "Is all well?"

"Did... did you say anything a moment ago?" he asked, throat dry.

"This is the first I've spoken in the last few minutes, my lord," she replied. She walked over to him and held out her arms. "Shall I take Princess Eirwen now?"

Ozma stiffly stood and nodded, allowing the midwife to take the infant. Amalthea continued to soothe Eirwen as she walked through a door he knew led to the newly-furnished nursery. He watched until the door shut, and once it did he practically ran to the window. He stared at his reflection, so familiar and unfamiliar to him at the same time.

Nothing happened. It was just a reflection, no more, no less. He must have imagined it, he hadn't heard _him_ in...

Ozma sighed and walked towards the bed, shedding his coat and dropping it unceremoniously on the ground as he did. It was followed by his gloves and boots. That done, he crawled on top of the bed covers and lay down next to Salem.

He studied her tranquil expression as she slept. He reached over and brushed his knuckles against her cheek before scooting over and wrapping his arm around her waist, pulling them close together.

_We're together,_ he thought. _That's all that matters._

Ozma took a shaky breath and willed sleep to take him.

_It has to._


End file.
